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by atlanxic



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Domestic, M/M, S-Support, d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 10:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12957192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlanxic/pseuds/atlanxic
Summary: "This place doesn't feel like home without you in it,"  Gerome tells him, his solemn tone betrayed by a blush just barely visible beneath his mask. "So come around more often."





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Gerome and Laurent deserved an S-support!

Laurent can never quite make it down the steep path to Gerome's house without the help of some wind magic. Well, to call it a house is probably an exaggeration. The space where Gerome lives with Minerva is carved into the cliff face, an open mouth to the Wyvern's Ravine.

It's closed to the outside only by leather drapes. Pushing them aside, Laurent sees that not much has changed. The fire pit in the center of the room, the ragged assortment of furniture scoured with marks from Minerva's claws as she carried them into the room, the wide assortment of furs piled on the couch and bed.

Gerome seems to be out at the moment. Laurent is eager to see him again, but doesn't mind the opportunity to catch his breath after the trek down. He is certainly no stranger to difficult hikes, but this one is exceptionally tricky by anyone's standards. He catches himself thinking that Gerome should be more considerate of his guests who don't have flying mounts, and then laughs. He's probably the only guest Gerome ever entertains.

Laurent clears off the table: not a proper dining table or desk, mind you, but a low table, probably meant for snacks. It's the only table Gerome keeps, much to Laurent's ire. How one can live without a proper writing desk is beyond him.

Once the table is cleared, he takes a few notebooks out of his bag, and arranges them on the table. Inside are a variety of notes and letters. Information on how everyone is doing, on political happenings throughout the realm, on the weather in Ylisse, and on his own wanderings, as well as letters to Gerome from a handful of the people who still consider him a friend.

Laurent isn't sure how they can continue to hold such optimism when Gerome never actually writes them back, choosing instead to let Laurent pass along whatever reactions and tidbits of information he can glean. But he appreciates their affection nonetheless. It brings him some peace of mind to think that if something were to happen to him, it wouldn't leave Gerome entirely alone in the world.

While he is lost in thought. Gerome manages to sneak up on him. He was an assassin during the war, so that much isn't surprising, but that Laurent didn't hear Minerva enter surprises him.

"Oh, hello," Laurent says, turning around and getting to his feet. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

"You're here," Gerome states.

Laurent smiles. "Yes, I'm here," he replies. "I know I've been a while, so I'm sorry if you were waiting."

"It's no trouble," Gerome replies. "You have your own life to attend to."

"Even so, it's my preference to drop by once every three or four months, if I can," Laurent says, knowing that Gerome already knows this. "So in all sincerity, I am sorry."

Gerome doesn't quite meet Laurent's eyes as he says, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Laurent replies warmly, and opens his arms for a hug. He knows that physical contact with Gerome is a fifty-fifty chance. Sometimes Gerome clings to him as if to make up for months without human contact in the space of a week. Other times, he flinches away even when their hands touch. Laurent has learned to expect anything.

Gerome surprises him with a tight hug. Laurent sighs quietly and leans into him, letting his eyes flutter shut. Gerome is very solid, and warm, though not as warm as most people.

After several moments, Gerome steps back. "Let's hear your report," he says.

He sits in the center of the couch. Laurent kneels on the other side of the table. Knees shoulder-width apart, arms clasped behind his back, chin up. The posture is simple, easy, but the familiar formality of it is a comfortable weight. "Yes, right away," he replies.

He tells Gerome as much as he can off the top of his head, first. How the younger Lucina is about to reach her fourth birthday, and already trying to learn swordplay. How Owain and Cynthia had teamed up against some desert rogues earlier that spring, and the local townfolk were now writing a play about them. How Brady now performs in front of full opera houses, and sometimes even manages to hold his tears until he's backstage.

It seems that everyone is moving on to new heights of greatness, flourishing in the peace of the new era. Laurent can feel himself flourishing, as well. His first novel, edited by his mother, has sold well enough copies to keep his pockets lined as he travels.

Sometimes he wonders if Gerome feels left behind. He has said, many times, that looking after Minerva and the feral wyverns is fulfilling work for him. But even so, Laurent can't help but worry. He's so isolated. Can anyone truly thrive with only a couple weeks a year of human contact? He might go to the nearby village for supplies once in a blue moon, but Laurent has accompanied him on enough of these trips to know he is a stranger to the village's inhabitants, although a somewhat famous one.

"Attention," Gerome reprimands him. "Don't let your mind wander. Give me the facts."

The stern tone of his voice has Laurent flushing. "Yes, of course," he replies. "But allow me to make some tea. Surely you're as thirsty as I am."

"Please do," Gerome replies.

Laurent brings the embers of the fire pit back up to a flame before retrieving some water from the barrel in the back of the room. When the tea is made, he places two earthen mugs on the table, and kneels again.

Gerome stares down at him impassively, through his mask. His gaze makes Laurent aware of every aspect of his posture. He strives to present the best front he can as he resumes his report.

He speaks until the sun has set over the horizon, and the fire is their only light. Gerome is an attentive listener, asking questions that bring to light details that Laurent might otherwise have forgotten. He is keenly aware that he still has a long way to go before he can perfect his observational and conversational skills.

At last, Laurent realizes that he has run out of things to say. "I believe that is all," he says.

"Thank you," Gerome replies, and Laurent knows that he means it deeply. "You may stand."

Laurent gets to his feet slowly, and stretches. His joints creak their protest of kneeling for too long, but Laurent ignores it. It's worth it. Being good for Gerome is worth it.

Gerome roasts an animal that Minerva had caught while Laurent looks through his notes, trying to see what he had forgotten. He sets aside the letters the others had written to Gerome, and slides the rest of the notebooks back into his bag.

He is pleased to discover that Gerome has updated his collection of plates and cutlery, and even more pleased to discover a salad of locally harvested greens along side the roasted meat. The last time he had been here, he had stepped out of line to lecture Gerome on his poor eating habits. He's glad his words got through.

They sit beside each other on the couch to eat, largely in silence. Minerva, in her own corner of the room, crunches happily on the bones of the night's dinner beast.

When they finish their meal, Gerome turns to him. And while his expression is always somewhat serious, tonight it seems even more so.

"Laurent," he starts. "Am I correct to assume that you have no proper home of your own?"

Laurent blinks a couple times. "I suppose you are," he replies. "I often occupy the guest room in my mother's house, but I travel so frequently, it would be illogical for me to own property."

Gerome pauses, and reaches into his pocket. "I would like you to make this your home," he says. When he opens his hand, a ring lies on the center of his palm.

Laurent gasps, and feels tears welling in his eyes. "Do you mean it?" he asks, but he knows the answer before the words pass his lips.

"I would not offer if I were not sincere," Gerome affirms. "I know I have little to offer your intellectual curiosity, but-"

"Yes, I would love to," Laurent cuts him off. He holds out his hand.

Gerome slides the ring onto his finger. It's made of rough metal but smooth on the inside, a dark shade of silver. It fits perfectly.

"This place doesn't feel like home without you in it," Gerome tells him, his solemn tone betrayed by a blush just barely visible beneath his mask. "So come around more often."

"I swear that I will," Laurent replies, and can't quite stop the tears from dripping down his cheeks. Gerome brings one hand to Laurent's face and catches a teardrop with his thumb. Laurent leans into his hand.

"Good," Gerome says, and leans in for a kiss. "I look forward to seeing you more often."

"You'll have to get a proper writing desk," Laurent replies, between kisses. "I can't live in a place without one."

"Consider it done," Gerome says.


End file.
